Saving Emily: A Fighter's Curvy Prize

by Nora Haley

  “If you ever need a test subject, tell me, okay?”

  We both chuckle, but again, I’m dead serious about it. I’d love to be her human guinea pig. Hell, I might even get hurt on purpose if it means she’s going to patch me up. Have that soft hands on my skin, have them running all over my body.

  My heart picks up pace as I imagine the thrill of her touch. My filthy mind gets ahead of itself, of course, picturing her fingers wrapped around my stiff cock. I bite back a groan.

  “So do you get injured a lot?” Emily asks.

  “I guess so,” I shrug. “Something you can’t avoid in my line of work.”

  “You’re a fighter?”

  I nod my head. “I used to be a soldier. Special forces. Found it hard to snap out of that mindset when I came back. And I’m good at fighting, so I stuck with it.”

  It’s more of a confession that I was prepared to make but she seems to get it. Sympathy flickers over her face.

  “Surely there isn’t too much overlap between prizefighting and war, is there? I mean… at least I hope so. You don’t kill your opponents, do you?”

  “Nah,” I shake my head, grinning. “Course not.”

  It’s not what anyone’s aiming for, that is. What I don’t tell her is that with those kinds of fights, there’s always a residual risk. There are no rules. Sometimes people have bad luck. Sometimes someone doesn’t know when to stop. It’s why I’m paid so well – it’s because obscenely rich guys get off on pitting two men against each other like dogs in a dog fight. They want to get their money’s worth and that implies blood and pain.

  So yeah, I definitely could do with a personal nurse to stitch me up after. And judging from the vibes I’m getting off Emily, she’s not averse to taking on the job. I register how she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. I think she thinks I’m as hot as I think she is. Perfect match.

  “Tell me a little about yourself, Emily. Why do you want to be a nurse?”

  She’s just about to give me an answer when her blonde colleague, Mackenzie, shows up at our table.

  “Em, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Looks like duty calls again.

  I clench my jaw, wishing for the first time Emily’s time was for sale. I’d gladly put all of today’s earnings on the table for another hour with her.

  “I’m sorry, I think I’ll have to go back to work,” Emily apologizes. She gets up from the couch and I follow suit. Despite her heels, she’s shorter than me. Perfect, really, for every activity I have in mind: kissing her, dancing with her, fucking her...

  “I wish you could stay–”

  “Me too.” She looks up at me, out of these stunning green eyes, and takes a step forward. Automatically I lower my head a little, just enough so she could kiss me, but she doesn’t go for my mouth. Instead, she brushes her lips against my cheek. It’s a chaste kiss. Almost not a kiss at all, just a feathery touch of skin on skin, and yet I’m burning for more.

  “Thanks for standing up for me earlier, Jon,” she whispers.

  “Any time. Just say the word.”

  She gives me a smile that tests my self-control. I reach out for her hand, wrapping my fingers around it. “Promise me I’ll see you again!”

  “I’ll come back as soon as possible, promise.”

  She still smiles at me when she pulls back her hand. Reluctantly I let her go.

  “Having a good time, Jon?” Shawn slaps me on the back.

  For a moment I actually consider telling him how fucking great it is that I met Emily. That having a good time doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling right now. But then I realize he’s not waiting for an answer. He just wants to show me off to the bigshot he’s got in tow: A middle-aged guy, in his early fifties perhaps. Balding. Expensive suit. Handmade leather shoes. Huge, chunky Rolex on his wrist. The sort that shits money.

  I know his type. He’s one of those men who got everything others dream of – a beautiful wife, a great job, a house outside the city, a downtown apartment, more money than he could spend in a lifetime. But whatever he has, it’s never enough. He’s always looking for the next kick, the next extreme.

  Judging from the way this guy is eyeing me, I’m to be that kick.

  The fact Shawn’s got dollar signs in his eyes confirms my theory that he’s already in the middle of negotiations with him.

  “This is Jon. Best fighter I ever had. I can assure you, Mr. Gilbert, you will not be disappointed,” he says.

  Gilbert doesn’t even pay him the slightest bit of attention. He’s too focused on looking at me as if he’s examining a racehorse he thinks about buying.

  “I heard you’re a winner, Jon.”

  I pointedly look him up and down, every bit as appraising as he – I want him to know I could take him without breaking a sweat. It’s my selling point that I’m tough and strong and deadly. And he strikes me as someone who gets a kick out of knowing he can control a man like me by shelling out what must be pocket money for him.

  “Mr. Gilbert asked for a private demonstration,” Shawn says. “A bit of friendly sparring with Viktor over there.” He points at the guy I noticed earlier, the one with the battered face. Looks like the day when we’d be expected to fight each other will come much sooner than I thought.

  I know Shawn. Not too well perhaps, and not for too long, but I can guess he’s already agreed to this. I ask the only question I got left: “When?”

  “Right now.”

  I don’t say out loud what I’m thinking, but I give Shawn a look that makes it quite clear he can go fuck himself.

  The thing is, Shawn isn’t someone who will let you off the hook so easily. He pulls me aside and lowers his voice. “Listen, Jon, you’re gonna get paid good money for this fight. Gilbert’s generous. Plus, there’s gonna be more if he commissions a real fight. A lot more. Think three times today’s share. Minimum.”

  I have to give it to him. A lot of cash is always a good incentive. Not today though. Today I’d rather stay here and spend time with Emily. Wait until she gets off work, then maybe go for a drink somewhere, or a bite to eat. I picture us in the booth of a diner having coffee and pie. I can practically see her in my mind’s eye, tucking her hair behind her ear. I can’t imagine a lovelier sight. When we’d be done eating, I’d take her by the hand and we’d stroll through the streets and then I’d kiss her for the first time. I wonder what she tastes like – sweet probably, absolutely intoxicating. And then–

  Shawn isn’t a complete idiot. He’s picked up on the fact I fancy her. It’s probably hard to miss by now. “I know you want to bang that waitress, Jon. But I promise you, she’ll still be here when you come back. I doubt someone will challenge you for first dibs.”

  I know what he implies and I don’t like it, but Shawn just talks on: “You do this tonight and we both get paid and the next time we get booked you’ll be rolling in money afterwards. You’ll get so much you’ll be able to put down a payment for a cute little house for your cute, chubby, little waitress and your cute, chubby, little children if you like.”

  I press my lips into a thin line to make sure he doesn’t see how much I like the idea. Fuck, the mental image of Emily and our children is like a snapshot from heaven. I can picture it so vividly, it’s almost a bit scary.

  I always thought I wasn’t cut out for family life. I never even really allowed myself to dream about it. How could I – with my lifestyle? But now that I have a mental image to go with the concept, I’m reconsidering… Wouldn’t I change my ways, turn my whole life upside down if that was what it took to be with her?

  Hypothetical questions. Shawn’s right. First I’d need the money to make it happen.

  “All right,” I say. “I’m ready to leave when you are. I just want to have a quick word with Emily.”

  Chapter Five

  Emily

  “Just wanted to give you a heads up,” Mackenzie says. “That guy Preston had me accompany outside earlier – he’s furious.”


  That’s why she wanted to talk to me? Mackenzie is known to flirt with mobsters and drug dealers. She’s not exactly an anxious type, but now her expression is serious and she’s even grabbed my arm to make sure I listen.

  “Okay, thanks for the warning.” I’m about to turn around to get back to Jon, but Mackenzie doesn’t let go of me.

  “Honestly, Em, I think that dude has it in for you. I’ve never seen someone go so batshit over a ban.”

  I frown. You’d expect people would always get mad about being kicked to the curb, so I can’t imagine what’s so different about this case.

  “I’m definitely gonna leave with Bryan,” Mackenzie continues. “I’m sure he’ll drive me home if I ask him.” Her eyes dart over to her beau in the Armani suit. It doesn’t look as if he misses her too much. He’s deep in conversation with another suit-guy who could be his twin. Same salt-and-pepper hair, same expensive clothes, the same air of superiority. Mackenzie isn’t too happy about the lack of attention. It takes a lot more to discourage her though. When she has set her mind on a man, she usually gets him.

  She still presses the point about safety: “If I were you I wouldn’t risk running into that douchebag again. Promise me you won’t leave by yourself either, okay?”

  Mackenzie is getting a little ahead of herself. It’s not as if we’re anywhere near leaving time already. It’s not even 11 pm yet. The evening has basically only begun. We still have a long way to go before we can worry about getting home safely.

  “Perhaps I could ask Jon,” I say absentmindedly, glancing over to where he stands. Unlike Mackenzie’s Bryan, he isn’t too distracted to look at me every once in a while. Every time our eyes lock, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads from my stomach through my whole body. My knees go a little weak.

  I’m confident he’ll stay if I ask him. I think he’d actually enjoy waiting for me – sitting in a quiet corner with a bottle of beer, watching me.

  Mackenzie, however, has got other things on her mind. “While we’re at it – do you think you keep an eye on the tables over there?” She points to an area I assumed to be her responsibility.

  I tilt my head, uncomprehending – or rather: unwilling to comprehend.

  So yeah, Mackenzie’s worked here longer. She’s one of Preston’s favorites. And when she got wrapped up in a chat with a patron earlier I filled in for her because that’s the deal. You always put the customer first. But she can’t seriously expect me to do her work so she’s free to woo a millionaire who’s not even that interested in her, can she?

  Apparently, it’s exactly what she expects me to do because she outright ignores that I gape at her in disbelief.

  “Thank you, Em, you’re an angel,” she says and leaves me standing there, feeling like an idiot as I watch her stride over to her potential catch.

  So that’s it, Cinderella. Ball’s over. Back to cleaning the fireplace.

  Jon darts me a questioning glance, pointing his head in Mackenzies’s direction. I shrug. No idea what just happened, but if this is what working the VIP lounge is like I’ll pass up the opportunity next time.

  When I come back from another trip to the bar, trying to work through a backlog of orders, the group around Jon is beginning to move. My heart sinks. So that’s it? He’s gonna leave?

  I force myself to smile when he walks towards me with this swagger that instantly gets me weak at the knees. I can’t let him know how disappointed I am.

  “Hey,” he says and the smile lighting up his rugged features makes my heart beat faster. “Just wanted to let you know I gotta leave.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I nod. I’m trying to convince myself that this isn’t the end of the world, but I don’t believe it. I can picture too vividly how this will go: Jon is going to tell me he’s gonna call and I will sit for days on the couch watching my phone. Despite all my waiting and staring and hoping, it won’t ring. I will eat ice cream and drink too much and show up at work with red eyes and a swollen face from crying and –

  “But I don’t wanna leave without doing this first,” Jon says, reaching out to touch my face. His hand is rough against my skin, and yet so tender. The breath catches in my chest when I realize what he’s about to do.

  His fingers curled around my jaw, he leans in to kiss me.

  His lips are dry and soft as they brush over mine. So gentle. Such an intoxicating contrast to the rest of him. I put my hands against his chest to steady myself. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and warm under my fingertips, but the body underneath feels more like rock than flesh and blood. How can anyone be so… hard?

  Jon nips at my lower lip, then at my upper lip, cautious, restrained. He treats me as though I’m precious, fragile. It makes me feel all fuzzy and warm, but I want more. I part my lips for him in invitation. Jon flicks his tongue into my mouth, only briefly, but it’s enough to cause a sharp tingling in my lower belly. A moan escapes me and I’m not prepared for his reaction.

  A shudder runs through him as if his self-control hangs by a bare thread. As if there’s nothing he’d rather do than devour me. His lips still move slowly against mine as he slides one hand down my back while he holds my face with the other. His fingers dig into my butt, squeezing. He makes a deep satisfied sound in his chest, like a purr, as if the sensation of my ass cheek in his hand is something to get excited about.

  His strength is so raw and dizzying, I’m getting drunk on it fast.

  Jon licks into my mouth, deep and thorough. He kisses me like he means it, like I’ve never been kissed before. He’s claiming me and I surrender. If he wants me I’m completely and utterly his.

  Clutching the fabric of his hoodie, it feels like I’m hanging on for dear life. I don’t want this kiss to end, but it’s also too much. If I’m not careful I will just explode with happiness.

  I’m breathless when he finally breaks away, his eyes dark with desire.

  “Wow,” I say, a bit shaky on my feet.

  His lips twitch into a smile. “Yeah. Same.”

  He digs into the pocket of his jeans and takes out his phone. “Will you give me your number, sweetheart?”

  I tell him. My heart is racing as I watch him type it in. All my doubts about him calling have vanished. I’m sure he will. And rather sooner than later.

  Chapter Six

  Jon

  “Man, I gotta say you’ve got a nasty right hook,” Viktor says rubbing his chin with his left hand, holding out his beer bottle with his right.

  I chink my beer against his and take a deep pull.

  We’re sitting outside on the rooftop terrace of a fancy apartment tower, the city lights glittering beneath us. For two men who just met for the first time and got acquainted by punching each other in the face, we get along remarkably well. A fact that’s mostly thanks to Viktor being a pretty nice guy behind the rough-looking facade.

  The first chance he got, he drew me aside and dropped his fake Russian accent. “As I see it we don’t get paid enough for this to actually beat each other up,” he said. “How do you feel about putting on a little show for Mr. Gilbert and his entourage?”

  So that’s what we did.

  I always thought of myself as a terrible actor, but apparently we pulled it off convincingly enough to fool everyone. Even Shawn bought it. To make sure our fight looked authentic we did throw some genuine punches though. Hence Viktor’s comment on my right hook.

  “Sorry I hit you too hard.”

  “All good,” Viktor says, sipping his beer. “Occupational hazard.”

  We stare out into the night in silence for a bit. The infinity pool before us shimmers, serene, almost magical in the faint light.

  “You know, sometimes I wonder why I’m still doing this,” Viktor says after a while. “I decided to stop fighting when Maria got pregnant with our daughter. We celebrated Sasha’s second birthday last week – and here I am.”

  It’s not as if I don’t understand being stuck in this lifestyle. Being good at punching other guys in the face is som
ething that tends to catch up with you.

  “I don’t know about you,” Viktor continues. “But I’m the kid of first-generation immigrants. My parents always told me they came here because if you’re hardworking you can make something of yourself in this country. And that’s still what I want to do – make something of myself.”

  It’s nice to have dreams. “So what would you like to do?” I ask him.

  “I’d love to have a gym some day. Train MMA fighters. And… I don’t know, perhaps teach kids how to box?”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It does, right?” Viktor turns towards me, looking pensive. “Have you ever considered doing something like that?”

  “Opening a gym?”

  “Nah, not specifically. I meant starting any sort of business. Or getting a normal job. Stop fighting.”

  I shrug. “Never had much of an incentive.”

  “Then let me ask you the other way round: What’s keeping you? The money? The thrill?”

  I’m inclined to say: Because I’m good at it. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s more complicated than that.

  “When I was in the army, I had this buddy,” I say. “Sam. We were close. As close as brothers. We were like family.” Sam’s face pops up unbidden before my inner eye and I swallow hard. I still miss him. “He didn’t come back from our last tour. Left behind a wife and two small kids. I felt obliged to help them out a little.”

  I’m not even sure why I’m telling him this.

  Viktor’s expression is hard to read. “So you do this to support another guy’s family?”

  “Not anymore. But yeah, for a while it was why I did it. To get them through the roughest bit. I didn’t want them to have to worry about money at least. I felt it was all I could do for them. For Sam. Then, a year back or so, Jen, Sam’s wife married again. Nice guy, too. She doesn’t need me to take care of her anymore, but I didn’t really know what else to do, so I moved around a bit. Met Shawn. And here I am…”